


Four

by Searece



Series: Memories and Times [16]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Jazz working in club-brothel, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-15 17:15:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3455330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Searece/pseuds/Searece
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>What an awful title... InMoNochrome showed me a very hot pic of Prowl with a set of quadruplets, one of which is Jazz. Here, Jazz and his brothers are working at a club/brothel type of establishment, and they have a habit of robbing the mechs they have a fun time with. Anyway, enjoy! And Jazz's brother's are all canon-ish characters; you'll see what I mean when you read.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Four

**Author's Note:**

> What an awful title... InMoNochrome showed me a very hot pic of Prowl with a set of quadruplets, one of which is Jazz. Here, Jazz and his brothers are working at a club/brothel type of establishment, and they have a habit of robbing the mechs they have a fun time with. Anyway, enjoy! And Jazz's brother's are all canon-ish characters; you'll see what I mean when you read.

/Boss just called; we got another one!/ sang Jazz into his bond as he went to fetch his brothers.

A wordless question vibrated through his spark, to which he answered, /Praxian, four wings, keeps two tucked behind his back, white and black with plenty heapings of red and gold./

/In Praxus, doesn't having four wings means he's a sire?/ asked Red Alert as he glanced up to locate his brothers, not that he needed to, but it made him feel somewhat safer. /I've heard that's what it means, and you sound like you're advertizing a pleasurebot, Jazz./

/Yeah,/ murmured Jazz though they all heard him even as he dodged an attempted grab from a drunken mech.

/Well if you don't know for sure, none of us will,/ chuckled Ricochet as he flashed a teasing smirk to the mechs on the dance floor, making sure to sway his hips as he pranced out of their sight. /Now what are we waiting for, an invitation?/ he half snapped, eager to get to the Praxian.

/Of course not,/ nearly hissed the remaining member of their quartet. His voice always came out in a raspy hiss, whether he was angry or not. His brothers rather liked the strange way of speaking despite what had caused it many vorns prior. /Unless the Praxian only wanted one of us?/

A pang of disappointment rang across the bond. /Cheer up~!/ ordered Jazz as he danced his way to the back room he knew the Praxian was in, /The Praxian wanted all of us, surprisingly enough./

Cheering silently, the other three broke away from their current duties to follow their brother, the almost dizzying light of the club streaking across their forms and making them seem almost to glow. When they entered the room containing the Praxian, their engines all revved at the sight presented to them.

The Praxian was almost lazing on the berth, stretched out as he continuously inspected the area. His curved sensory panels almost swayed behind him as he shifted his helm to look at the four mechs that had just entered the room. A broad red chevron, untrimmed and thus at its proper length, crowned the mech's helm to bring attention to the blue optics underneath it. Natural divisions in his faceplate brought attention to the thin lips just barely quirking upward. The mech's large servos seemed rough, as if he did a fair bit of manual labor. A broad chest led down to a smooth waist that smoothly transitioned to a gleaming codpiece. Well-built legs, long and also gleaming, ended the mech with definite strength telling of time taking care of himself.

All of that they observed in mere seconds, one of the perks of being them; then Jazz stepped forward with a seductive smile and purred to the Praxian, "How may we serve you tonight? We're at your command."

Meanwhile, he talked with his brothers, /He definitely takes care of himself, hah hah~! Look at that shiny plating./

/Oh, absolutely,/ purred Stepper, gaze drifting over the mech's hips, /I want to taste his spike so badly~!/

/How big do you think it is?/ chimed in Red Alert, /Though for all we know-/

/Yeah, yeah,/ Ricochet rolled his optics under his yellow visor, /it's really small. I hope that's not the case./ The last part was said almost wistfully. What he wouldn't give to be pounded into by a thick spike for once. His current job may not have been his choice, but he made the most of it while he could.

/I, for one, just hope he has plenty of credits and that he's an easy frag,/ stated Jazz, admonishing them for their fantasies, /Now get your minds onto the job! You can wish later./


End file.
